


Attack A Tha Puberty Fairies

by RainofLittleFishes



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cuddles, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Unhappy but Consensual Sexual Touching, piles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:06:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2687111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainofLittleFishes/pseuds/RainofLittleFishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Alpha trolls have gone GodTier, and Kankri is having a hard time with this latest violation of his bodily autonomy, restoring, without permission, parts of him Beforus had removed without permission. Cronus is a bit slow on the uptake, but in the end, he does what has to be done. </p><p>From the kinkmeme. Forcibly-Sterilized!Kankri gets his shameglobes back. Otherwise-still-kinda-sleazy!Cronus finds himself performing a sexual act with the one troll he doesn’t want to bucket. </p><p>*</p><p>“You’d tell me if you need ta talk ta someone, right, Chief?” and maybe it’s manipulative, and maybe you know that he’d agree to a lot to get rid of you right now, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned since you fell in diamonds, it’s that Kankri is his own worst enemy and you have to do your best to outthink him if you’re going to keep him balanced. This is “problematic” because you are not, strictly speaking, the intellectual sort and Kankri would completely outgun you if he wasn’t busy fighting himself all the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Attack A Tha Puberty Fairies

There. There it is again. You’re lying on your back dozing and Kankri is warm against your side and the Game is still horrid but for a time things have been not entirely terrible. Specifically, the time since you all gained GodTier and more specifically since you’ve found yourself in diamonds with Kankri. Past you was not only a jerk but also an idiot. Sex might be awesome (it might not, you still haven’t managed it) but diamonds are _perfect_. You have never been so extensively cuddled in your life. It makes you sleepy and sated and slow, and also kind of smug. (Present you is still a jerk, just not quite as much.)

You feel another tremor from Kankri and you turn your head and he’s clearly still asleep, facing you, frown creasing his brow, and there’s a gleam to his skin that shows he’s sweating. You roll over in your shared pile, which as far as you are concerned, has been far preferable to sopor, and put a hand to his forehead. He feels hot, but he always feels hot to you. You were just going to try to rub his temples until he moved on from whatever dreams troubled him, but now you’re starting to get worried. You feel another jostle from him and look down in time to see his hips jerk back a little. Oh. OH. He _is_ the smallest of all of you. It looks like going GodTier has forwarded his address to the very tardy puberty fairies in more than one way.

He’s fighting it, of course. Kankri has never appreciated being told what to do, and chemical signals from his own body are no exception. You can hear his teeth grind and that can’t be good for him. You pap his cheeks and his forehead and his temples, all strictly pale and you can see the little twitches of his eyelids as he wakes, like a swimmer rising from the depths, the slow stages of acclimatization to the lower pressure. Of course, whatever he’s dreaming of, he’s waking to the Game, so maybe it would be more apt to say he’s slowly sinking into the pressured depths.

When he’s awake, and you’re piling, you like to trace his ears and his hornbeds and his nape, down his back and sides, and it feels real good when he returns the same. But those are touches that mean different things from a diamond or a heart, and you’ve learned not to do anything that might also feel flush to Kankri, not when he’s not entirely awake to know who’s doing it. Intent is only part of it. How it is interpreted is the other. Everything about Kankri is about boundaries. It has been one long game of MotherGrub-May-I, and you still wake amazed every time that you’ve gotten this far.

Kankri juts his hips forward again and you can hear his teeth squeak in protest and you pap him on the cheek hard enough to almost be a slap. “Come on, Chief. Time to wwake up an givve your pearly wwhites a rest.” He groans and stills and trembles and you know he’s awake and it’s time for another round of interpretive dancing as you try to get answers for what the problem is this time.

Kankri’s made you examine a lot about yourself and you are probably better off for it, as raw as it makes you feel, but every time you think you’ve almost got a handle on him, you realize you’re still only wading in the grub-side of the pool of his psyche.

You hear a thin high whine that cuts itself off and he grabs your hand and goes stone still beside you. You can feel the divots of his nails in your wrist and it hurts but you know it will be worse when he notices and feels guilty. If you can get your wrist back and distract him maybe he won’t notice. Maybe it’s patronizing of you to try to preempt his guilt, but it’s also exhausting to try to relieve him of each and every perceived violation. If the perceived infringement is against you, and you don’t want him to worry about it, then that should circle back around to being your right to keep him in the dark unless he explicitly asks, right? He gives you a headache sometimes, and only part of it trying to follow his thought process when he’s actually speaking.

“Come on, Chief, evverythin’s a-okay, time to join tha bold, tha beautiful, and tha rest a us GodTier smucks.”

He groans and lets go of you and sort of waves his hand around, like he’d trying to pap you silent and can’t quite locate your face. That groan, though, that’s not a don’t-wwanna-get-up-groan, or even a my-isn’t-this-wwiggly-inconvenient. It sounds like pain.

“Kankri? Talk ta me, Chief, wwhat’s wwrong?” You are not such longstanding diamonds that he talks to you without any barriers. Or prodding. It took a while to find out that past that seemingly-always-ready-word-avalanche, was a mountain of issues to be mined. Past that mountain, more mountains. You’re beginning to crack the Kankri code and it mostly just gives you enough illumination to know how much you don’t. You are less than Hopeful that puberty will be without complications.

You are pretty sure that the fact that he was eight sweeps at the start of the game and looked maybe six was not natural, but he hasn’t raised the issue and you have been more worried about his head than his height. It’s been maybe a perigee since he hit GodTier and you think he’s gained three inches already. Maybe four. When he’s awake, he lets you rub his shins and gently pull at his arms and try to help him find the exact angle to stretch to relieve the pain in muscles as his bones grow in sprints for the first time in sweeps. It’s been horrible to watch, and feels warm in your pump to be able to relieve even a tiny bit of his discomfort, and also you feel guilty that you don’t feel more guilty about the second. You are positive that Kankri brings a field of complicated with him and you are squarely within it. Yet, you can’t quite convince yourself you don’t like the puzzle. You sure like the attention. The confusion is just a sort of payment.

“Cronus?”

“Present an accounted for, Chief. You gotta status report ta be sharin?” You don’t know if that was he wasn’t sure if you were there or if he’s just being polite about “engaging in dialogue” before telling you something you won’t want to hear.

“I think I’d like to be alone right now.” His voice sounds slightly strangled and you’re pretty sure he needs to go make acquaintance with his post-puberty bits, so you don’t touch him, don’t run your fingers over his cheek or rub his back, or any of a number of things that the diamond in you urges you to do, you just lever yourself up and move along. You do drop one last bit of pale at him though.

“You’d tell me if you need ta talk ta someone, right, Chief?” and maybe it’s manipulative, and maybe you know that he’d agree to a lot to get rid of you right now, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned since you fell in diamonds, it’s that Kankri is his own worst enemy and you have to do your best to outthink him if you’re going to keep him balanced. This is “problematic” because you are not, strictly speaking, the _intellectual_ sort and Kankri would completely outgun you if he wasn’t busy fighting himself all the time.

*

You think that that’s the end of it, except it’s not. Kankri is drawing away from you and drawing more and more tightly against himself, wound with tension. He’s six inches taller than he was pre-GodTier, and you don’t think he weighs any more than he did. His cheekbones are sharp and, when you can pile him, his ribs and hips and elbows and knees are also all too sharp, like the growth spurt is eating all his soft edges. The only pudge left to him seems to be around his middle, but he’s gotten downright mean about letting you touch him there so you mind your hands to avoid getting kicked out of the now-all-too-rare pile. Like all forbidden fruit, The Pudge becomes utterly irresistible and you and your (very, very quiet) petulant pouting about it are challenged in your ultimate misery crown only by the fact that Kankri is still clearly miserable.

It’s two perigees past his Ascension when you accidently touch The Pudge. The Pudge is solid, like a rock, and hot, like an infection. Kankri doesn’t kick you out of the pile. He sort of spasms in your arms, and he sobs and curls _closer_ , and your diamond is in _pain_. How did you not know?

You get the whole story then, he knows that he owes you that much, but it’s not the sort of winning that makes you feel triumphant.

You get the whole story and you wonder how dense you really are, because you didn’t _know_. You think about it now, and you tick off how many of you knew and how many suspected and how many of you were just stupid. You’re pretty sure you have company in that last category but it’s not good company.

Porrim, you think. Porrim knew and didn’t tell you, and that was right because if Kankri didn’t tell you, he didn’t want you to know, but dammit, you needed to know, you had a right to know, because this is the source of so much of Kankri’s friction with the universe and himself, this is the root of it, and you’ve been battling this unseen enemy without knowing the shape of it.

Kurloz, you think, and Kurloz had to know, Kurloz has a sticky mind-finger in every fucking pie and Kurloz didn’t tell anyone but that doesn’t surprise you, you’re pretty sure he goes to his coon each dawn to masturbate to all his freaking secrets. Clownwad.

Did Meenah know? Was she high up enough to be indoctrinated into all of Beforus’s terrible secrets early? Or was she like you, too successful at avoiding responsibility?

You’re pretty sure Mituna knew, at one point, you’re not sure how much he remembers from before and after his burnout and subsequent Ascension. You think about a lot of his filthy jokes, and, in retrospect, they all had a line, this close and no further, and it makes sense now, and you know Latula has to know, because they share _everything_ , secrets to undies to diamonds, the magnificent pervs.

Damara had to know, she’s the lowest on the ladder besides Kankri and his brilliant hue, she had to know what she was facing if she failed just one of the regular culling sweeps. Her filthy mouth makes more sense now, and suddenly the two sides of her, aggressive and suggestive versus her restrained body language, her blank face, they click together like two pictures becoming one, binocular vision providing a depth with the sudden focus.

How far into the population did this go? You’re pretty sure Rufioh has no idea. Or Horuss. Meulin might or might not, you could see it either way, and you don’t think she’d be rude about it. You don’t know if Aranea knows, and it makes you sick to think of it either way. Some of the things she says…

Kankri clings to you and you run your hands down his back and on a hunch you rest your hand on his nape and he actually nods into your chest. “Yes. Please.” He sounds sincere, and desperate, and tired.

You scruff him, carefully, and he goes limp and something in you is gooey and sparkling that he trusts you but the larger part is terrified. He’s let you trigger a lighter reflex with his horn beds, done the same for you and it was pleasantly floaty, but not overwhelming. He scruffed you once, when you asked, and wwoww, that wwas a _trip_ , but he’s never asked you to scruff him, and quite frankly, you didn’t expect him too. He’s a bit of a control freak. He must be in a lot of pain to ask.

You still don’t know what to _do_.

Beforus told Kankri he was deficient, that he wasn’t capable of contributing, that he should sit back and let others take care of him, however long that might be before he shuffled off his short red mortal coil. Kankri tried to tell Beforus to shove it, but Beforus as a whole was too big for even Kankri to battle by himself, and he didn’t have enough allies, not at age six when they cut him open and literally _extracted his shameglobes_ and sewed him back up and patted him on the head and told him to go play with the other invalids.

Now you’re all nine sweeps and GodTier hasn’t just granted him Game Powers, it’s healed what it perceives as an injury, and he’s been catapulted into all the hormones and growth spurts and mind-altering chemicals from which he thought he’d been forever excluded, and it’s every bit as invasive to him as the first round of violation.

He’s got somewhere between two perigees and three sweeps of slurry packed into him and somewhere along the way he internalized enough of Beforus and made it his own that he doesn’t want sex, doesn’t want to be touched like that, won’t even touch himself. Kankri is stubborn, more stubborn than his mountains of issues, but you don’t think he can just ignore this. Can you explode from slurry retention? You rub one thumb over his nape and keep an ear to his breathing, slow and steady now, and you put the other hand on his chest. Even through his sweater you can feel his ribs.

“I’m going to touch your belly, Kan. I wwon’t go any lowwer.” You probably shouldn’t do this much without permission, but asking to be scruffed is pretty much the closest Kankri has ever come to telling someone, “Please, I don’t know what to do, take care of me”. The closest he’s ever come to admitting to a need for the services a diamond might provide. Or a culler. You hope that that was his way of telling you he was ready for help, and that when he comes back to himself this won’t be yet another violation of his person in a long line of them.

Kankri’s one true pitch crush was clearly fated to fail because you’re pretty sure that the entirety of Beforus as a Cultural Institution was not in the practice of romancing back. You’re pretty sure you’re feeling more than a bit pitch for Beforus yourself right now.

You slip your hand under his sweater, seemingly shorter after his growth spurt, now only an inch or two below the line of his pants. He’s actually wearing your pants now, cuffed once on the bottom, but still much longer than his. They’re low rise and the top of his hips peek out, the bones at odds with the swelling. Carefully avoiding his sheath, you map out the whole area, up to his ribs. There are two hard hot lumps, one to each side of his sheath, and you’re positive that you shouldn’t be able to feel his shameglobes like that. Even as gentle as you’re trying to be, even as out of it as he is, he groans when you nudge them, and you stop as soon as you’re pretty sure you can explain the size and location to Porrim.

Above that is a much larger bump, formerly known as The Pudge, and you map that out, spanning your hand across it so that you can only barely feel the edges all at once. That has to be his slurry sacks and they’re not quite as hard, a gentle press displaces the liquid below enough that you’re pretty sure it’s all slurry and not infection. Kankri groans and you pull his sweater back down and rub his back. You still don’t know what to do. You know he needs to get at least most of the slurry out, but you don’t know if that will fix whatever’s wrong with his shameglobes. If he hasn’t taken care of it himself, you don’t know if he _can_ , and you don’t know if he’ll let anyone else help.

You think about the assortment of rejects available and you don’t really like the idea of any of them “helping”. It’s not just them. You know he doesn’t want sex, perceives it as yet another affront to his autonomy that this raft of sudden reactions and urges and biological processes has inflicted upon him and you don’t see how adding another person will make him feel better about it. Even if he acquiesced, it feels like you’re contemplating his future rape.

You hold him and you periodically add a little pressure to his nape until he’s not only dozing, but sleeping. The slurry retention has gone on long enough that a few more hours probably won’t make a difference and you’re pretty sure he hasn’t slept the day through in at least a week, so that’s something you can do at least.

The next night you help him lever himself out of the pile (and how could you not notice, he moves so slow, he’s so careful, he’s so clearly in pain) and you help him shower and get dressed and you tell him you’re going to go talk to Porrim and ask if he wants to come.

“I think I will rest some more, I feel unexpectedly tired still.”

You don’t doubt that he means that, but you also wonder what the other part is. Does he just not want to hear you relay his shame to Porrim? Is he in too much pain to make the trip? You lay out a glass of water and a sandwich by the pile and he’s already dozing when you leave. Post-diamond Kankri is less wordy, at least to you, though sometimes you really wish he was wordy enough to explain more, but this statement peters out like he’s just too tired to keep talking.

Porrim is less than thrilled to see you, but she doesn’t actually tell you off and when you get to the meat of the matter she softens. You’ve noticed that a lot of trolls dislike you less now that you’re piling Kankri. Or maybe it’s just that you’ve stopped cruising to fill your flush quad. Go figure. That stupid thing about not chasing the happiness butterfly was not entirely stupid, just twee as all clownfuck.

You describe everything you can and ask her what you can do, if the damage is limited to the pain or if Kankri’s compounding the problem with something else. Porrim frowns and tells you that the best thing to do express it naturally, but you both frown at that, that’s what you’re afraid of and it’s probably not what Kankri wants to do.

She tells you that it’s possible to aspirate the slurry with a needle, but that it’s not just painful but more dangerous. There are drugs to simulate flush hormones and to induce the kind of contractions that will expel the slurry, but she thinks they’d be worse than the first option because she has no idea what kind of dose he’d need, being both GodTier and off-spectrum. There are also aftereffects and it might be easier in the long run to deal with the chemicals already in his body than trying to regain his equilibrium after adding new ones. As for the hard coals of his shameglobes, it’s impossible to tell what needs to be done until he expresses the slurry. They might just be backed up. He might have an infection.

You leave relieved to have some reassurance that he is “exceedingly unlikely to explode” and feeling sick because you’re pretty sure you’re going to go convince your moirail to let you finger him until he releases and you know that it will be exceedingly unpleasant for both of you.

Kankri wakes up slowly and you cuddle with him on the pile while you explain your visit to Porrim.

You lay out all the options. Then you ask him what he wants to do, and you Hope really hard that he doesn’t elect to ignore it because you don’t think you can let him. He asks you more about the third option, until you have to confess you don’t know enough to answer the specific scenarios he’s relating. You message Porrim. She calls you a dumb fuck and comes anyways. The two of them hash out the details and Porrim fetches syringes and alcohol and tells you both how to use them and leaves. They’re for backup if touching isn’t enough. You learn from their brief conversation that his shameglobes aren’t the only thing both taken and restored without permission.

The thought of six sweep old Kankri, drugged and hacked into, pieces of him pulled out and plopped in a biohazard tray for disposal, makes a wash of violet cross your vision and you inhale and exhale slowly to try to calm down. You’ve never wanted to kill anyone before you found out. You’ve never felt so strongly, so utterly viscerally, about the concept of consent. Kankri isn’t the only one being forcibly inducted into the throes of adulthood. You’re not sure you agreed to this. You know you can’t back out.

Kankri asks if you’re okay with doing this. The answer is no but there’s no way you’re telling him that. The alternative is worse. He unzips and pushes his pants down and scoots back into the pile and tugs you after. He pulls a blanket up over the two of you, like maybe if you can’t see what you’re doing you’ll both feel better. You are so pale for him you feel sick.

The two of you talk at each stage, trying to reassure one other, it’s okay, you’re not hurting one another. It’s a lie, but it makes it better, lets it be just another embarrassing bodily function. It would be easier if one of you were sick in another way, any other way, instead of this. You know that if you were vomiting he’d stay with you and rub your back. If he were old and incontinent, you’d stay to clean him up. It’s the sex part that makes it awkward. Then again, at least this will be over soon, and you may yet have decasweeps with him as long as you can win the Game. You tell yourself to be more Hopeful, this can be solved. Then you tell yourself to fuck off.

You slick your hand up with the lube Porrim left you. (You’re pretty sure it’s not actually branded “Idiot Boys” but that’s what she said when she slammed it into your hands. Then again, it’s unlabeled, so who knows.) Kankri spoons in on his side and asks you if it’s okay if you do it, that he doesn’t want to touch himself, but that he understands that it is unfair to expect this of you.

“It’s okay, Chief. Wwell, not okay, but, you knoww…” You trail off and huff and he huffs back, an unexpected lightness. You can feel him tense and still when his exhalation jostles him. You just need to think of it as the kind of embarrassing thing two moirails do together when they can’t turn to anyone else. At least it’s not ‘rails with pails.

You pet his sheath for a little while and move to the lips of his nook as he starts to dilate. His breathing is faster and you can hear a little hitch and stutter even as his hips jerk. You’re behind him so you can’t actually see if he’s crying.

“Time out,” you insist.

“Please, Cronus, just finish it.” And you might not have managed to make it to the bucket with anyone, but you realize that even having spilled by yourself makes you the experienced one in this. He has no idea how much longer this is going to take. You have an idea and it is either perfect or terrible.

“Kan? Wwould it be better or wworse if I just scuffed you until you spilled?”

“ _Do it._ ”

“You sure? Once you’re dowwn, you wwon’t be able ta tell me ta stop. Wwe can try tha drugs.”

“Please. Just do it. Get it over with. _Please_.” And you think about how hard he battles everything, and you’re beset with wonder that _trusts_ you. It makes it a tiny bit less disgusting that you are about to use a leftover reflex from the primitive days of troll evolution that usually only gets used by grubcaretakers, conciliatory quadrants, and _rapists_. Sure you used it just yesterday, but it wasn’t for _this_.

You snug in closer and he pushes back into you until you’re nestled as tightly as two bodies can be from the hips down. You put your messy hand under his sweater and splay it across his chest, hold him from both sides as your other hand finds the right spots on his neck and squeezes lightly. You squeeze and release a few times, it makes the drop less precipitous, then you set in for the full thing and you feel him go limp. You count his breathing to yourself, leave the one hand at his nape, and let your other do what you must.

By the end of it, your hand is red to the elbow with streaking and the pile will have to be dissembled and sorted for discarding and cleaning, but you can push on his belly without causing any pain and his shameglobes are still feverishly hot but almost normally sized. You’re pretty sure you’re the only one to ever have touched his bulge, even if you never saw it. You’ve also made intimate acquaintance with his bone bulge and the protective lip plates of his nook, the latter one of those things restored by GodTier, as well as the cilia inside up to his shameglobes. You were mostly able to do what you needed to do without prodding inside more than twice, to check on the before and after of the worryingly swollen glands. You know that he must be feeling chafed and you’re pretty sure that the scruffing has worn off, but he’s quiet in front of you, breathing deep and even again, and you take a moment to savor him in your arms because you won’t blame him if he never wants to see you again.

“Gonna get us both into tha showwa, put this behind us, yeah?”

He nods.

You scoop him up, harder now that he’s taller, easier now that he isn’t resisting, diamond-breaking now that you’re not sure if this has changed him. You clean the both of you up and by the time you’re done and just standing in the spray, he leans close and hugs you back, and you get a soft hoarse “thank you”. You pretend you don’t see him crying and he politely doesn’t mention it if you have to spit up a few wads of mucus to clear out your sinuses.

Your pile is a disaster site at the moment so the two of you end up across the way in his and fall asleep. You haven’t walked more than a few hundred steps tonight and you’re utterly exhausted.

You wake up to a softly talkative Kankri and you have never been so relieved in your life as when he tells you off for something you called Kurloz. You instigate an argument for the heck of it. (Kurloz is _totally_ a Clownwad.) Aggressive prepare-to-be-schoolfed Kankri is _back_. You missed him _so much_. Maybe he can take over for a while. You trail after him as he heads out to check on the rest of your team.


End file.
